Shame the Devil (12 page)

“I’m gonna ask you again. What’s he want?”

“I told you already, he wants to bring you in —”

“He wants money.”

“A donation would be a part of you joining the congregation, yes.”

“I’m just a dishwasher in town. Where would he get the idea that I’ve got money, Lee?”

“Now, Frank, you know… you know I haven’t told him a thing.”

Farrow stared at Toomey while he smoked his cigarette down to the filter. Toomey slid a glass of ginger ale across the table,
and Farrow dropped the cigarette into the drink.

“I guess I better go see him,” said Farrow. “He in today?”

“He drives a pretty Buick.”

“There was a platinum-colored Park Avenue parked outside the church when I drove in.”

“That would be his.”

“I’ll drop in on him right now, then, since he’s being so persistent. Small town like this, can’t really avoid it any longer,
I guess.” Farrow got up from the couch. “Say, Lee, you know that pistol you gave me when I first came down here?”

“Sure… sure, I remember. I was wanting to get rid of it for a long time, ’specially with kids in the house —”

“I took it up to that wildlife refuge they got, fifteen miles north of Edwardtown. You know, in the winter there’s nobody
on that land. Never even seen a ranger. Anyway, I tried that little gun out. Shot one of those white birds with the long legs
that lives there. One of those birds they claim is protected. Anyway, that’s a real fine weapon you sold me. Yeah, that pistol
shoots real straight.”

Toomey picked at his beard and stared at the carpet. “I ain’t proud of the life I had before. And I am not goin’ back to it,
I can tell you that. Look, I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with guns anymore, Frank.”

“I know it, Lee. Just wanted to thank you is all.”

Farrow went to the front door; Viola stood in the foyer, holding her little girl. She reached for the knob, turned it, held
the door open for Farrow.

“Good bye, Larry.”

“Viola. Ashley.”

Farrow left the house. Martin was standing by the tree line, looking Farrow’s way. Martin grabbed a branch to steady himself
when Farrow stared back. Farrow smiled at Martin and walked to the Ford.

Farrow parked next to the platinum Park Avenue outside the church. He went to the church’s varnished front door and knocked,
and soon the door swung open. A large thin-lipped man with a gray pompadour stood in the frame.

“Reverend Bob?”

“That would be me.”

“My name is Larry. I’m an acquaintance of Lee Toomey. Lee said you’ve been wanting to see me.”

“Yes, Larry, thanks for stopping by. Please come in.”

Farrow followed the reverend through a kind of lobby into the body of the church, which was done entirely in stained wood:
wooden beams, wooden pews, paneled walls, a parquet-floored altar with a slatted wooden podium in its center. A wooden cross
hung from the ceiling, suspended over the podium. A bible with an ornate gold-leaf cover lay open on the podium’s face.

“Nothing fancy, as you can see,” said the reverend, turning left at the center aisle, signaling with a wave of his hand for
Farrow to keep moving. “I don’t believe in marble and icons. Everything we collect in the form of donations goes back out
in some form to the community.”

“Nice carpentry work,” said Farrow.

The reverend pushed on a side door, holding it open for Farrow.

“Local craftsmen did it for us on the weekends. Nearly everything in this building’s been donated by the members of the congregation.
Your friend Lee did the electrical work, free of charge.”

“He mentioned it. You got a Buick dealer who’s part of the flock, too?”

The reverend turned his head briefly as he walked down the stark hall. “How’s that?”

“That’s a pretty car you got out front there.”

The reverend chuckled. “My one indulgence. Come along.”

He led Farrow into an office and closed the door behind them. There were framed degrees and awards on the walls, no photographs
indicating family. The reverend had a seat behind a cherry-wood desk and laced his fingers together, resting them on a green
blotter before him. Farrow sat across from him in a leather chair with nail heads along its scrolled arms.

The reverend’s hands were pink and soft. He wore a fine cotton, starched white shirt, onyx cuff links, and a black-faced watch
with a small diamond set in the face. When Farrow was a young man, his father had worn a Movado watch just like it. The sight
of it on the reverend’s wrist tightened Farrow’s stomach.

Farrow kept his eyes lowered in the hat-in-hands position. “What can I do for you, Reverend Bob?”

“I’ve seen you around town, Larry. With Lee and at other times, too. I’m curious — are you a practicing member of any particular
denomination?”

“You’re gonna have to cut down on the size of those words.”

“I apologize. Do you belong to any church?”

Farrow shifted in his seat, trying to appear uncomfortable. “I did once. I’m afraid I’ve lapsed.”

“It’s never too late to come back to the fold.”

“With all due respect, Reverend Bob, I’m not interested.” Farrow tried a sheepish, down-home smile. “Besides, I make it a
practice to have a few beers on Saturday nights. Sometimes I have more than a few, and on Sundays I sleep in.”

“We have drinkers in our congregation, Larry. Drinkers and womanizers and tax cheaters, and maybe worse. The service works
for those folks, too.
Especially
for those folks. Our church is about atonement and forgiveness.”

Farrow looked directly into the reverend’s brown olive-pit eyes.

“I’m not interested,” said Farrow.

The reverend looked away for a moment, then returned his gaze to Farrow and leaned forward over the desk.

“This isn’t about just going to church, Larry. It’s about how this church reaches out to greater Edwardtown. Why, just this
morning I was making my rounds out at the retirement community on the edge of town, speaking to some of our senior citizens
who are in the nursing ward. I sometimes bring them candy, cards, flowers… all of that costs money.”

“Tell me, reverend. What do you tell those people, exactly? The ones who are going to die.”

“Why, I tell them to have no fear. That the journey is just beginning. That they’re going to a better place.”

“And you believe that.”

“Yes.”

“I envy you, then. A man who doesn’t fear death.”

The reverend leaned back in his chair. “How do you know Lee Toomey, Larry?”

Farrow shrugged, pausing to re-create the story he had told others in the kitchen many times before. “I got family up in Wilmington.
I was heading up to Delaware to see them a couple of years back, working my way north from Richmond, where I was living at
the time. I took a ride into Edwardtown on a chicken truck, decided to spend the night.

“Well, I had a beer that night at this bar in town, and the bar owner had put this bulletin board up in the head. Lee had
posted a card that said he was looking for help on this one job. It was straight labor, really. I didn’t want to go home and
see my people with empty pockets, so I called him up and we met and he took me on.

“Anyway, I got to liking the town in those two weeks I worked for him. When the job was done, Lee, being the kind of man he
is, got me an interview with the Royal Hotel’s restaurant. Lee’s in with those people; he’s got their account. I took a dishwasher’s
job in their kitchen, and I been with them ever since.”

“That’s a nice operation they got there.”

“They do real well.”

“I had an outstanding dinner there one night, not too long ago: twin fillets with a peppercorn sauce, and some very good red
wine. Their house red was outstanding. You know something about wines, don’t you, Larry?”

Farrow said, “Why do you ask how I know Lee?”

“I was wondering if you knew him before he came to Edwardtown. From his past.”

“I don’t know anything about Lee Toomey’s past, Reverend.”

The Reverend’s thin lips turned up in a gaseous grin. “So you like Edwardtown.”

“Yes. How about you?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve lived in New York and some other glamorous places, too. But it was always my dream to come to a
small town like Edwardtown to build a congregation from the ground up.”

And to fleece the local hayseeds for everything they have.

“I moved around a lot,” said the reverend, “searching for I didn’t know what until I came here.”

Failure.

“And because I never had a wife or children of my own —”

Faggot.

“ — this congregation has become my family. I’d like very much for you to become a part of that family.”

Salesman.

“You mentioned donations,” said Farrow. “What could I contribute? I’m unskilled labor. I don’t see a kitchen here, so you
surely don’t need me to wash dishes. As far as dollars go, I have next to zero.”

“We don’t ask for much. Whatever you could afford would be appreciated. Most people think they have nothing, but if they cut
here and there… Take you, for instance. You must have a little extra something, Larry. Maybe something tucked away beyond
your dishwasher’s salary?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just happened to be talking to my friend Harry, the gentleman who owns the Wine Shoppe out on the interstate.
He tells me you come by a couple of times a week to buy, what did he tell me it was, some reserve California cabernet he stocks.
What does that go for, Larry, thirty dollars a bottle? Now just think if you cut out one bottle a week, what it could mean
to the people we reach out to in this town.”

“That’s not very Christian, is it?” Farrow said genially. “I mean, asking around about my private life like that?”

“I didn’t have to ask,” said Reverend Bob, his tone thoughtful and sincere. “Tell me, Larry. Where were you incarcerated,
exactly?”

Lewisburg. San Quentin. Whittier and Preston reformatories before that…

“You’re wrong about me, Reverend. I’ve never been incarcerated in my life.”

Reverend Bob’s voice went velvet. “I have no interest in your private affairs, Larry. If you have money, where you got it
… I don’t care. What you’re doing here in Edwardtown is no business of mine. Neither is your past. Remember what I said: atonement
and forgiveness. Now, I admit I tend to be overzealous at times. It’s just that I’m so committed to building this church.
I could use your help.”

“I understand.” Farrow forced a smile. “Give me a few days to think things over. We’ll talk about this again, though. That’s
a promise.”

“Take as long as you wish.”

Farrow stood. “Take care, Reverend.”

The reverend spread his hands and said, “Praise the Lord.”

Farrow opened the door, closed it softly behind him, and walked
from the church.

Farrow sat at the bar of Linda’s, a long, deep tavern on High Street that catered primarily to tourists and the town’s lesbian
population, sipping a Snow Goose Winter Ale. Farrow liked to come here early in the evening, before the live folk and jazz
bands took the stage, when there were very few patrons. In this hour he could drink quietly and without conversation. He was
careful not to overtip the bartender, a prematurely bald graduate student, as this would only encourage the young man to talk.

Farrow took his beer and walked past the billiards tables and shuffleboards to the rest-room enclave in the back of the house,
where a pay phone was mounted on the wall. He dialed a two-one-three exchange and got Roman Otis on the line.

“How we doin’, man?” said Otis.

“A situation came up here that I have to take care of. After that I’m ready to roll.”

“Then I’m ready, too.”

“You flush?”

“I’m about busted flat in Baton Rouge and waitin’ on a train. Supposed to see a man about that this afternoon. Man
owes
me some money. Gonna do that thing and then I’m clear. Could use a temporary change of scenery and some new prospects. How
about you?”

“I’ve been living like a monk,” said Farrow. “I’m doing all right, but it’s time to leave.”

“Where you want to meet, man?”

“You still got that cousin of yours likes to talk too much, did that Lorton jolt?”

“Yeah, Booker’s out and livin’ up there in southern Maryland, outside D.C.”

“We’ll meet at his place.”

“Ain’t we still hot up that way?”

“No. I read the D.C. paper every day. They’ve never had a thing. We’ve got unfinished business there, Roman.”

“If you say we do, Frank, then we do.”

“You mail off that photograph I sent you?”

“Did it. Listen, Frank…”

“What?”

“Remember my sister’s husband, Gus? Tall guy on the white side?”

“Tall, hell. He’s a giant. Polish guy, right?”

“Some shit like that. He played professional, Frank, long time ago. ABA ball. Was the backup center for the Spirits of St.
Louis.”

“What about him?”

“When I came out here, I was lookin’ to invest some of my hard-earned cash. Gus had the idea we should loan out some of my
money to those unfortunate citizens got themselves burdened with bad credit ratings.”

“You got in the vig business. What did I tell you about that?”

“You were right. Didn’t work out the way Gus planned. Gus feels real bad about it, Frank. Plus he and my sister Cissy need
to put a little country between ’em for a while. So Gus is riding with me right now.”

“He’s all right?”

“Gus is solid. See, he couldn’t play ball for shit, Frank. Oh, he could grab a rebound or two if the ball bounced right into
his hands. But they used him for something else. The coach would tell him that a certain player had been ridiculing him before
the game. Basically, they’d put him in the game just to fuck motherfuckers up. This is the man who made Artis Gilmore have
bad dreams. Gus sent some starters to the hospital for real, ended a couple of careers. He’s tough.”

“Bring him along.”

“Right.”

“When can you be at your cousin’s?”

“Gonna take me about a week to make it across country in my short.”